


home is where the heart is

by orphan_account



Category: Andrew Hozier-Byrne (Musician)
Genre: Andrew Hozier Byrne/Original Female Character(s), Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, No Proofreading We Die Like Men, domestic life, ignore the cheesy title i couldn’t think of anything else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:52:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22637071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: nothing special, just a peek into what i think domestic life would be like with andrew.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	home is where the heart is

the day had continued quietly and slowly; andrew had himself cooped up in his studio writing for most of it, and you used your day off to clean. you’d drifted in and out of the room, bringing him tea in between your chores, which he would accept gratefully, a soft “thank you, my love,” parting from him every time. 

his muffled singing floated from upstairs into the kitchen below, the rush of water from the kitchen sink drowned out by guitar strums. you had started washing the few dishes leftover from the night’s dinner; the warm, soapy water providing a pleasant contrast to the cool air of the house, which nipped at any exposed skin it could find. 

the stairs creaked, the faint thump of andrew’s feet against the wood alerted you to his presence. he picked up a towel and started drying dishes, placing them carefully into the cabinets. “you could’ve asked me to help, you know.” he said, a playful smile crossing his face. 

you smiled back at him and set a dripping mug into his outstretched hand. “it’s late, i didn’t want to disturb the song-writing process.” 

he let out a chuckle, pushing up his glasses with a single finger. “please, you just encourage it.” the mug was put away. 

you didn’t reply, holding the sentiment to yourself. the comfortable silence rested over the two of you like a blanket, the delicate clinks of dishes and feet shuffling the only thing to be heard. andrew put the last plate away and handed you a dry towel. you dried your hands off with the cloth, leaning into his chest and closing your eyes with a yawn.

“ready for bed already?” he asked teasingly, calloused hands dragging themselves lazily up and down your back. you exhaled. 

“it’s only ten,” you murmured into his sweater. “that’s not too early, is it?” sleep seemed to pull at you, tugging, drawing.

andrew chuckled again, the honeyed sound filling the small room. “depends on who you ask, i suppose.” he placed a tender kiss to the top of your head and brought you closer, nearer, to him.

it was a sweet scene, really. two lovers wrapped into each other, in the tranquil stillness of their kitchen, both of you practically falling asleep then and there. the floorboards rasped under you, a tell of the house’s age.

after several minutes, he spoke again. “let’s go to bed, dear.” he drew away from you, tucking a small piece of hair behind your ear. you groaned faintly at the sudden absence of his arms coiled around you. 

your bed seemed to welcome the two of you with open arms, the duvet settling over your bodies comfortingly. andrew let his arms open, waiting for you to mold yourself into him the same way you always did. his hand came to rest on your back, arm resting in the dip of your waist. your head nestled under his snugly, legs intertwining with his impossibly long ones. 

“did you get anything done today?” you asked. 

“mhm. i’ll show you tomorrow, if you want.” his chest hummed against your cheek when he spoke.

you sighed into him tiredly, beginning to surrender to unconsciousness. “you know i always want to hear your stuff, honey. i might even make those scones you love so much if i like it.” 

“goodness, don’t put me under such pressure.” he joked back, smiling into the darkness of the room. moonlight filtered in through the window, shadows from the trees casted shapes on the walls, across the lump of bedsheets. 

“goodnight, andy.” you pressed yourself closer to him, breathing him in.

“goodnight, my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> im sorry this is so short and i hate it i wrote most of it at 1am while crying cause of work song


End file.
